The Wooptee Doo Toilet Seesaw
A lot of people ask why I have such a big house. It’s not a question I can answer quickly. It’s big by most standards. 19 rooms. Well, more depending on what you consider rooms. I won’t bore you with the details of the floor plan. Ok, I will, just a little.
The 19 rooms don’t count the two stairways, the downstairs hallway or for that matter the three distinct rooms in the basement. The house is 25 rooms if you look at it from a number of rooms to be restored and cleaned perspective. That is, indeed, how I look at it. I have to deal with them on a daily basis. This is why after 6 and half years, I still have seven rooms to restore. Of the 19 official functional living rooms four have toilets. I use to have a toilet in the basement, but I took it out and haven’t replaced it. I will someday. But still, in the meantime, this house is built for scalability. Increase the total number of occupants and they can pretty much not notice each other. The bathrooms are all separately plumbed and have their own hot water heaters. When guests come, we can all shower and shit at once and not inconvenience anyone. Pretty cool, huh? That’s right; there are no bathroom lines at party’s women. The house is built for volume but organized for individual efficiency. Occupants can see each other going about their business but never really have to share a toilet seat or even a common wall if they don’t want too.
Course most of the time I live in the house by myself. This leads me to the peculiar behavior of rotating bathrooms over the week. I need to feel like I’m utilizing all the space and I don’t want the toilets to feel neglected.
Now where I work at is pretty much the opposite. The building houses 8000 workers and we are in large open atrium office levels which stretch for about a quarter of a mile. There are four wings, four stories high. It’s vast, and built for efficiency. --Building efficiency, not worker efficiency. I can spend ten minutes walking between meetings and it takes fifteen minutes to get from where I park my car to where I park my ass. (We call this a productive workspace.) So while we the workers at my company, formerly called yaba daba du, formerly du –yabba and soon to be daba again (I had to change the names to comply with a recent company memon on mentioning the company in blogs) are wasting so much time traveling back and fourth between places to essentially park our ass , we tend to have a lot of lines, choke points and bump into each other in odd ways. One of the odd efficiency meeting items: the toilets. All the toilets in the building are wall mounted. Men’s and Women’s bathrooms share a common wall between the toilets. I suppose this was done for plumbing efficiency. It lowered costs and solved dealing with running plumbing lines through steel beams or something. But it has an added bonus. Parking your ass and taking a poop at work can be like a roller coaster ride. The toilets on opposite sides of the wall share the same mounting bracket. You can be sitting there concentrating away, hoping you don’t stink the place up too much and --whooptee doo. You are on a toilet seesaw. Someone sits down and you get a little lift in life. Usually just a subtle little rise under your legs to let you know you have member or the opposite sex in close proximity sharing a bodily function. It’s not a full rise, but you notice it.
Now the thing is, after a few years of experiencing this, you start to wonder about the Wooptee Doos. You can’t help notice that they come in various levels of intensity.
--Something like the Richter scale. Sometimes it’s just a gentle bump in the groin area. Other times, someone gets off the other toilet, and you feel a moment of weightlessness as you enter into free fall. To put the Wooptee Doo Richter Scale in perspective, I weigh 270 pounds. So, when I get a big lift or a big fall, I have to wonder what was on the other side balancing me. Our company has a lot of pretty large women roaming the building. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Not that I think making fun of fat is a good idea. I weigh 270, after all. (Note: I also have 20 inch biceps and bench 210 lbs 120 times a workout just for the heck of it) But even a well worked out woman can’t weigh 270 and not be a behemoth. And if they can sit down on the toilet and fling me up into the air on the other side, well, they lost sense of reality somewhere. --Cause, they weigh a lot more than me. So when women walk by me he the halls and sit in meetings, I start to wonder, where on the Wooptee Doo scale they stand. I especially wonder that if they are really big and tend to not pay attention to me when I’m asking questions or giving direction. (I’m a director after all, I give direction.)
Guess who tends to spend the least time paying attention to what I say? You guessed it, the women on the high end of the Wooptee Doo scale. Not that I’m saying that means anything really important. It’s just a biased non-scientific observation of a guy who has dealing with a couple of women who have been taking a little multi-million dollar project I’ve been directing for the last year for a roller coaster ride. A big whooptee doo. We are now four hundred percent over budget and fifty percent behind schedule. When I ask questions or make suggestions on how we might trim the fat and get the project on balance, I am quite impolitely and publicly eviscerated. You’d think I’d suggested something radical like, “On balance, raw vegetables and fresh fruit was healthier to eat than Hagen Daas.”
I bring all this up, because I’m sure that if either one of these women were to sit down on the opposite end of the toilet seesaw from me. I would be sent sailing. But they have overlooked one minor issue, sitting there on the other side of the wall, in what they think is their own little toilet. (Nibbling potato chips and declaring themselves queen.) The person on the other side of the seesaw has more muscle. On Monday, it’s them, that will be sailing, and they won’t be thinking it’s a wooptee doo.
Special Note:
The author of this piece does not in any way want to imply lack of cooperation and focus are traits restricted only women on the high end of the Wooptee Doo scale. However, given certain sexual barriers in America, the physical limits of the work toilet seesaw lab, the relative difference in the number of times a woman has to sit down in a bathroom to that of a man and therefore the limits to subsequent possible observations of male members of society on the high end of the Wooptee Doo scale, the author will have to draw a hasty generalization that: members of either sex on the high end of the Wooptie Doo scale tend to be unfocussed and uncooperative. But this conclusion is based on conjecture and extrapolation and not empirical data points gathered for this article on women with high wooptee doo coefficients. Therefore the reliability of the women wooptee doo conclusion is less suspect that the male wooptee doo conjectures. But in either case we are just talking about a bunch of fat asses.
The 19 rooms don’t count the two stairways, the downstairs hallway or for that matter the three distinct rooms in the basement. The house is 25 rooms if you look at it from a number of rooms to be restored and cleaned perspective. That is, indeed, how I look at it. I have to deal with them on a daily basis. This is why after 6 and half years, I still have seven rooms to restore. Of the 19 official functional living rooms four have toilets. I use to have a toilet in the basement, but I took it out and haven’t replaced it. I will someday. But still, in the meantime, this house is built for scalability. Increase the total number of occupants and they can pretty much not notice each other. The bathrooms are all separately plumbed and have their own hot water heaters. When guests come, we can all shower and shit at once and not inconvenience anyone. Pretty cool, huh? That’s right; there are no bathroom lines at party’s women. The house is built for volume but organized for individual efficiency. Occupants can see each other going about their business but never really have to share a toilet seat or even a common wall if they don’t want too.
Course most of the time I live in the house by myself. This leads me to the peculiar behavior of rotating bathrooms over the week. I need to feel like I’m utilizing all the space and I don’t want the toilets to feel neglected.
Now where I work at is pretty much the opposite. The building houses 8000 workers and we are in large open atrium office levels which stretch for about a quarter of a mile. There are four wings, four stories high. It’s vast, and built for efficiency. --Building efficiency, not worker efficiency. I can spend ten minutes walking between meetings and it takes fifteen minutes to get from where I park my car to where I park my ass. (We call this a productive workspace.) So while we the workers at my company, formerly called yaba daba du, formerly du –yabba and soon to be daba again (I had to change the names to comply with a recent company memon on mentioning the company in blogs) are wasting so much time traveling back and fourth between places to essentially park our ass , we tend to have a lot of lines, choke points and bump into each other in odd ways. One of the odd efficiency meeting items: the toilets. All the toilets in the building are wall mounted. Men’s and Women’s bathrooms share a common wall between the toilets. I suppose this was done for plumbing efficiency. It lowered costs and solved dealing with running plumbing lines through steel beams or something. But it has an added bonus. Parking your ass and taking a poop at work can be like a roller coaster ride. The toilets on opposite sides of the wall share the same mounting bracket. You can be sitting there concentrating away, hoping you don’t stink the place up too much and --whooptee doo. You are on a toilet seesaw. Someone sits down and you get a little lift in life. Usually just a subtle little rise under your legs to let you know you have member or the opposite sex in close proximity sharing a bodily function. It’s not a full rise, but you notice it.
Now the thing is, after a few years of experiencing this, you start to wonder about the Wooptee Doos. You can’t help notice that they come in various levels of intensity.
--Something like the Richter scale. Sometimes it’s just a gentle bump in the groin area. Other times, someone gets off the other toilet, and you feel a moment of weightlessness as you enter into free fall. To put the Wooptee Doo Richter Scale in perspective, I weigh 270 pounds. So, when I get a big lift or a big fall, I have to wonder what was on the other side balancing me. Our company has a lot of pretty large women roaming the building. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Not that I think making fun of fat is a good idea. I weigh 270, after all. (Note: I also have 20 inch biceps and bench 210 lbs 120 times a workout just for the heck of it) But even a well worked out woman can’t weigh 270 and not be a behemoth. And if they can sit down on the toilet and fling me up into the air on the other side, well, they lost sense of reality somewhere. --Cause, they weigh a lot more than me. So when women walk by me he the halls and sit in meetings, I start to wonder, where on the Wooptee Doo scale they stand. I especially wonder that if they are really big and tend to not pay attention to me when I’m asking questions or giving direction. (I’m a director after all, I give direction.)
Guess who tends to spend the least time paying attention to what I say? You guessed it, the women on the high end of the Wooptee Doo scale. Not that I’m saying that means anything really important. It’s just a biased non-scientific observation of a guy who has dealing with a couple of women who have been taking a little multi-million dollar project I’ve been directing for the last year for a roller coaster ride. A big whooptee doo. We are now four hundred percent over budget and fifty percent behind schedule. When I ask questions or make suggestions on how we might trim the fat and get the project on balance, I am quite impolitely and publicly eviscerated. You’d think I’d suggested something radical like, “On balance, raw vegetables and fresh fruit was healthier to eat than Hagen Daas.”
I bring all this up, because I’m sure that if either one of these women were to sit down on the opposite end of the toilet seesaw from me. I would be sent sailing. But they have overlooked one minor issue, sitting there on the other side of the wall, in what they think is their own little toilet. (Nibbling potato chips and declaring themselves queen.) The person on the other side of the seesaw has more muscle. On Monday, it’s them, that will be sailing, and they won’t be thinking it’s a wooptee doo.
Special Note:
The author of this piece does not in any way want to imply lack of cooperation and focus are traits restricted only women on the high end of the Wooptee Doo scale. However, given certain sexual barriers in America, the physical limits of the work toilet seesaw lab, the relative difference in the number of times a woman has to sit down in a bathroom to that of a man and therefore the limits to subsequent possible observations of male members of society on the high end of the Wooptee Doo scale, the author will have to draw a hasty generalization that: members of either sex on the high end of the Wooptie Doo scale tend to be unfocussed and uncooperative. But this conclusion is based on conjecture and extrapolation and not empirical data points gathered for this article on women with high wooptee doo coefficients. Therefore the reliability of the women wooptee doo conclusion is less suspect that the male wooptee doo conjectures. But in either case we are just talking about a bunch of fat asses.
posted by Stan at 3:19 AM
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